


Compass Rose

by eiqhties



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, American Road Trip, EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM CAN SEE IT, Everyone else but Niall, Indie Music, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Rock Band, Sharing a Bed, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiqhties/pseuds/eiqhties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“We’re like all the directions coming together, you know? Like a compass. What do they call them? Compass rose, that’s us.”</i><br/> </p><p>An AU in which One Direction are an indie rock band touring America. There's lots of open roads, cramped vans, and pining for the service stations in the UK. Oh, there's also a lot of pining for each other, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compass Rose

It’s their third night here, in this town, tucked in the deep south of America. They’re somewhere in Texas, Niall knows. Somewhere where the sun beats down thick and hot. So heavy it feels like you could drown in it. He doesn’t know the name of the town. Doesn’t care enough to find out, really. He used to. Used to write every town, every village down. Try to buy something in each one. Used to send postcards from each location to his mam, blast Fall Out Boy’s early albums and drum along with Andy Hurley on the steering wheel. It doesn’t seem quite like that, now. Now he’s just happy to know what state he’s in. Know where his drumsticks are and know where he’s going to be sleeping.

Hopefully it’s not the van, tonight. Liam had said that they’d be able to get a motel for each day in this town, but they couldn’t scrape the money together. They could have probably crashed in some fans house, slept on their sofas, and nicked some of their breakfast food. After all, they’re starting to get enough fans now, gather enough attention.

Harry doesn’t like doing that, though. He says it feels like they're taking advantage.  He gets all tense and unhappy and ends up sleeping with Louis in the van, because Louis refuses to leave the van.

Liam normally ended up sleeping in the van, too. Curled around Louis with a pinch in between his forehead as they struggled to make themselves fit. So they all gave up with the promise of sofas.. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Not tonight. Liam promised the hotel tonight. Sure, they’ll still have to share rooms, two bedrooms for the five of them. They’ll have a proper bed, though. Niall would kill for a bed, at this stage.

“I am sorry about it, lads,” Liam says, shrugging. Niall had mentioned the crick in his neck from sleeping in the van, and Liam had frowned. He doesn’t sound as sorry as he might once have, though. Doesn’t sound as sorry as he would have at the start of the tour. His skin is tan from the sun, shirt stretching across his shoulders. Their fans scream for Liam when he takes to his guitar. Looking at him now, at the way he smiles at Niall in the rearview mirror, Niall can see why.

“We would have been able to get the motel for three nights, if someone hadn’t wasted our petrol budget.” He elbows Louis as he says this, and Louis laughs, shakes out his hair. It’s getting long, again, Niall thinks that he’ll be able to tie it up, soon. Pull it behind his head Harry, like Zayn.

“Fuck off, Payno,” Louis says, but it’s easy. Easy like the way he’s leaning against Liam’s shoulder as Liam navigates their van through the dust. Easy like the way Liam smiles at him, like the sun dipping down on the horizon. Niall still isn’t used to it, out here. Still isn’t used to the whole expanse of desert, of cornfields and wide roads. The way you could walk for hours and the landscape around you would look the same. It makes everything seem small, different. He’s staring transfixed, watching the dried grass and the occasional sign, when Zayn starts him out of it.

“Want one?” He asks Niall. He’s holding out a packet of chewing gum, spearmint, like he always buys. Niall doesn’t like spearmint that much. It makes his teeth feel weird after a while, but he takes a piece anyway. Smiles at Zayn. Zayn smiles back. The two of them have the back seats of the van, sharing. Harry is lying down in the boot, curled around their speakers, their guitars. He’s been asleep for ages, the half hour that Liam’s been driving. It looks horrid down their, dark and uncomfortable and filled with metal. Harry’s always been able to sleep anywhere.

Zayn is the same, though Niall thinks he’s been awake for most of this journey. He’s got his shoes kicked off, no seatbelt on. Niall doesn’t have his seatbelt on, either. Twists, so that his back is against the door, his legs in front of him. Twists, so that he can see Zayn better. Zayn’s feet are tucked underneath him, and despite the extra space that Harry has created, Zayn is still tucked tight against Niall. He’s leaning sideways against Niall’s knees. One arm wrapped around them. He’s got that soft smile on. The one that says he’s running on a lack of sleep, on service station coffees. Watered down and strange like coffee seems to be in America. It’s been ages since Niall has allowed himself the luxury of proper coffee, brewed right.

“Y’alright?” He asks Zayn. Zayn nods, smiles slightly bigger. He slumps even further sideways, moves his arm so that he’s lying against Niall completely.

“Might fall asleep,” He mumbles. He sounds like he’s pretty much sleeping already, and Niall grins. Scratches a hand through Zayn’s hair. Watches the way Zayn’s eyes flutter shut, the small wrinkles between his eyebrows even out.

“S’okay,” He tells him, “I’ll not move too much.” Zayn laughs, a small puff of air,

“That’s a lie. You move more’n anyone else I know. You’ll be drumming on my head in a couple of moments.” He doesn’t seem bothered by it, just settles further into Niall, “I like it, though.” He continues, “Means you’re there.”

Niall laughs, crumples himself forward awkwardly until he can press a kiss into Zayn’s forehead, “Alright then,” He says, into Zayn’s hair, “That’s fine.”

Zayn’s breathing is soft and slow already. Niall smiles at him. He’s always found it cute, really, how Zayn can fall asleep between one word and the next. Niall leans back against the door of the car. Tips his head against the glass, breathes in rhythm with Zayn. He turns to look at where Louis and Liam are in the front seat. Louis’ head is still on Liam’s shoulder, and he meets Niall’s eyes via the rearview mirror.

“What?” Niall asks, instantly on the defensive. He knows what, and Louis’ knows too. He laughs at Niall, turns his head into Liam’s skin. He seems to take a moment to just breathe Liam in, before he sits up, clicks his seatbelt off and spins to look properly at Niall. Peering over at him from where he’s on his knees in the front seat.

“Honestly, mate, are you ever going to tell him?”

Niall runs his hands through Zayn’s hair, gently pulling out tangles. He refuses to meet Louis’ eyes, deliberately obtuse, “Tell him what?”

“That you’re madly in love with him, Nialler.” Harry says from where he’s been lying. Niall jumps. He hadn’t realised that Harry had been awake, and he casts a look down to the boot. Looks at where Harry is lying, head resting on a rolled up piece of cable.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks, and Harry sits up, stretching out his arms. His back cracks, shoulders popping in their joints, and he pulls a face as he stretches out his neck.

“Dunno. Long enough to hear you pretend that you don’t know what Louis’ going on about. You’re taking the boot next time, by the way, sleeping there is disgusting.”

“I hate taking the boot, there’s not enough room for one person back there, never mind two.”

Liam laughs this time. His eyes meet Niall’s as he turns away from the road briefly, “You and Zayn don’t have to sit together, you know,” He says, “I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind sharing the back with Zayn.”

Harry nods. The curls framing his face bounce as he does so, “I encourage it, really. Who doesn’t want that much beauty in one confined space?”

Niall rolls his eyes. There’s no point replying to them. Zayn wouldn’t want to take the bench with Harry. Niall wouldn’t want him to either. They sleep better beside each other, better tangled up in each other, even if it’s in the boot of a van. They’ve spent too long this trip having to rely on each other for warmth, for space. They’ve got it down, now, though. Like their chosen instruments, they work better as a unit. Better vocally, better musically. He and Zayn know how to move around each other, now. Learned each other in the heat, in the sweat of the clubs they play in. In the noise of their fans and the purr of the van’s engine.

“He loves you back, you know,” Louis says, softly. They’re all looking at where Zayn is asleep, cheek pressed into Niall’s shins. One of Zayn’s hands has found it’s way to be wrapped around Niall’s ankle. He’s beautiful, like this. In the shadows of the setting sun, the glow from the sand, from the dried grass around them. The sun is setting over the dust, and Liam is driving on.

Niall smiles, shakes his head fondly, taps his fingers on his knee. He’s tapping to the beat of a new song they’ve been working on. Zayn’s lyrics, this time. It’s darker, twisted, and Niall loves it. Humming softly, he keeps the rhythm going, smiling when Harry joins in with his humming. Evening is settling. The heat is finally cooling to something Niall’s Irish skin can handle. The sun is settling over the dust.

There are infinite red sparks across the dusky sky. Niall thinks vaguely, that he should write that down.

Liam drives the van on.

**

The motel, when they get to it, is small. It only has a few rooms, and they’re told they aren’t that impressive. None of them comment on this, though. It looks clean, and it has beds, so it won't be them that will complain.

The girl at the front desk has blonde hair and a red lipped smile, she’s got that All-American girl look about her. Skinny and bubbly. Niall smiles at her as Liam asks for the keys, but she’s really only looking at Harry. Her eyes follow him as they walk away.

“She liked you, mate,” Liam says to Harry. They’re walking to their rooms, the five of them all pressed together. It’s almost dark, now, but still warm enough that Niall doesn’t need a hoodie over his thin shirt. Louis nods in agreement, one of his hands is tucked in Liam’s back pocket. Liam’s arm is wrapped around Louis’ shoulder, holding him close. Harry squints at the two of them, pulling his hair into a bun,

“You’re not going to fuck when I’m in the room with you, right? Because I’ll share with Zayn and Niall if that’s the case.”

Zayn laughs, “You have to share with them, Hazza.” Niall is wrapped around him, pulling him easily into his space. He nods at Harry from over Zayn’s shoulder,

“Yeah, Harry, there’s only one bed in our room, and no offense, but I’d rather not wake up with a mouthful of hair.”

“Yeah,” Louis grins, stopping as they get to their designated rooms, "At least if we fuck you'll only be in the same room."

Liam nods seriously, "I mean, you're welcome to share the bed with us if you want, but Louis and I thought you might want the extra space.”

Louis thumps him in the chest, and turns to glare warningly at Harry, "More like Liam and Louis demand you take the extra space. You will not climb into bed with me and my boyfriend." The height difference should make the threat ridiculous, but Louis has always had a kind of power to him.

Harry acknowledges this without acknowledging it. He sighs, puts a hand on his chest and looks dramatically across the car park, the parking lot, of the motel,

"And here I thought it would be just like when Niall and I lived together. Ah, the things I saw! The things we shared!"

Niall pulls a face, wraps his arms around Zayn's waist and pulls him tighter to his body, "You mean that time when I walked in on you having sex, you invited me to a threesome, and I didn’t talk to you for a week?”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, “No! I meant the time you thought you were home alone and walked out of the shower without a towel.”

Niall feels his face go bright red. Shifts so that he can bury his face in Zayn’s neck. Zayn is laughing at him, he knows. He can feel it in the subtle shake of Zayn’s shoulders, “Traitor,” he mutters into Zayn’s skin. Zayn only laughs more.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Niall!” Harry is saying now, “You have a very nice cock. Pretty, almost. You have nothing to be ashamed of!”

Liam, Zayn and Louis are all laughing openly at the two of them, now. Niall is still red, he knows. He thinks about trying to kick Harry, but that would involve moving away from Zayn. Niall really doesn’t want to do that, right now. It would involve so much effort.

“I hate you,” Niall says, instead, “I’m going to fuck up our gig tomorrow in payback for that. I have a pretty cock, what the fuck, Harry?”

Harry just smiles. Liam shakes his head, unlocking the door to their room, and yanking Harry in Zayn puts his hands over Niall’s, where they’re still settled on Zayn’s hips. He leans back into Niall, turns his head and kisses Niall on the cheek, “You’re not going to mess up the gig,” He whispers, “Because if the drums fuck up then I’ll fuck up, and you like me too much to do that.”

Niall sighs, tries to hide his smile, and pulls his hand free from Zayn’s grip, taking the motel key out of where Zayn shoved it in the front pocket of his jeans. He mourns the loss of the heat for a second. Stupid, really. The whole time they’ve been here NIall has been suffering from the heat. The second that Zayn provides it, though.

Stupid.

Niall unlocks the door. Inside, there’s a small double bed. The bedspread is a dark red, and for a second Niall pauses, thinks about all the stains that could be lurking in there. Then he thinks about the crick in his neck from sleeping in the van, the way even if you have seven hundred blankets the cold creeps in. Then Zayn shoves him forwards and says,

“I’m getting the right side,” And Niall scowls.

“Fuck you! Every time we get a bed you have the right side. I want it, this time.” He probably sounds like a petulant child, but he’s tired. He’s almost definite he got sunburnt earlier, and they haven’t had a chance to sit down and write in a while. If feels like it’s building up in him, sometimes. Like the whole of America is going to come crashing down on him.

The other boys normally let him drive, when he gets like this. When he gets jittery and tired in equal parts. He’ll snap at them all, otherwise, so he drives instead. Sits in the front of the van with Zayn, and Zayn will pick the music, because Zayn always picks the music when Niall drives.

So Zayn will play something R’n’B based, something slow, with talented singers and a heavy beat and a stronger bassline. Zayn is one of those people that plays the whole album, from start to finish. The first time they got high together, he played Frank Ocean’s channelORANGE and spent the whole time talking about the experience of an album. The way it has to tell a story. Niall hadn’t heard any of the songs, too caught up in the smoke curling around Zayn’s wrists and the way he smiled with his tongue pressed to his teeth.

Every so often, though, the two of them will choose an album together. Some pop punk album from the early 2000’s. Enema of the State, or Dookie. Or, on one memorable occasion, So Wrong It’s Right. The five of them yelling the lyrics to Vegas, sun beating down in the car as Niall sped through open desert. Louis and Liam having a competition over who could do more accurate air guitar, Harry conducting them, squeezed between them in the back bench.

Now, though. Now Niall is standing in the middle of a motel room. Tired, sore. He feels seconds away from crying, or collapsing. He’s not sure which, but Zayn must see the look in his face, because he pulls the door to their room shut, and then wraps his arms around Niall. Pushes his face into Niall’s shoulder, loops his arms around Niall’s back and says,

“Shh, it’s okay, Nialler. You can have the right side of the bed.”

Niall’s pretty sure he’s being treated like a child, pretty sure he’s being coddled. He doesn’t care that much, though. Zayn’s seen him cry enough times. Seen him at his worse. At his most angry, at his most sad. It was him and Zayn first. Just he and Zayn. Then they met the others, grew outwards, like points on a compass.

“Like, like a what do you call it,” Harry had said once. They’d all been smoking together, the smell of weed hanging in the air, music playing in the background. Niall can’t remember what it was now, but he’s almost definite Harry had picked it. Something folky, Paolo Nutini, maybe. Harry’s head had been bowed, hair falling over his eyes and his hand moving, trying to think of what he wanted to say, “We’re like all the directions coming together, you know? Like a compass. What do they call them? Compass rose, that’s us.”

“Compass rose,” Louis had said, joint hanging out of his mouth. He’d been lying on the floor, head in Liam’s lap, “Compass rose,” He repeated, took a toke, smoke billowing out from his nose, “It would be an alright band name, that.”

“I reckon we’d be an alright band in general,” Liam had replied, taking the joint out of Louis’ hand.

And that was it.

That was how it started. How it began. Harry was the singer. He was made for the centre of a stage, really. Glitter boots and long hair, Harry had always moved like he was bigger than his body. Not to mention his voice, deep and strong with the hint of his accent flowing through. They’d all heard him sing and knew that the band would happen, from there.

Niall had wanted to be the guitarist, initially. He’d never been far from his guitar, back then. Attached to the dodgy acoustic one he’d bought in a second hand shop when he was thirteen. Liam and Louis worked better together, though. They played like thunder and lightning. Niall didn’t want to take that from them.

So Niall chose the drums, and Zayn learned the bass.

“Got to rely on you for all my cues, eh?” He’d said, looking at Niall. His hands smelled like new strings, and his bass had been cradled in his arms. His bass was see-through, electric, with five strings. He’d found her on Freecycle and spent a whole thirty minutes just staring at the screen. Something in his expression Niall had never seen before.

“I guess so,” Niall had told him, and Zayn had smiled so much his nose had crinkled with it, hit Niall in the shoulder and said,

“Good.”

So here they were. Compass Rose. Touring America, with nothing but a tiny van and a lot of hope. Here they were, Zayn and Niall, side by side in a bed. In a small double in a small motel, somewhere in Texas. Texas which was anything but small. Texas sometimes seemed like the whole of America. Like the whole of the world. Spanning out, touching all four corners of the Earth. Niall liked it, in a way.

It was also terrifying.

**

When Niall wakes up, he’s on the left side of the bed. He doesn’t know how it’s happened. But Zayn is beside him, lying on his stomach, one arm under the pillow. He’s still asleep, and Niall is wrapped around him, head resting on Zayn’s shoulder. It’s an awkward position, slightly twisted. He sighs, rolls away. Zayn makes some vague noise at Niall’s absence, turns onto his back and groans. One arm flung over his eyes as if he can’t bear to see the morning,

“What time s’it?”

Niall, standing, shrugs, “Dunno, need to piss, though. Didn’t think that we were quite at the stage in our relationship where you would appreciate a golden shower.”

Zayn makes an absent noise of agreement. His arm is still over his eyes and he mumbles, "Appreciate everything you do, Niall."

Niall laughs, "Cool. I'll bear that in mind next time. Just piss the bed, like. It’ll be really sexy."

"Mm, talk dirty to me," Zayn says. Then he rolls over and pulls the duvet over his head. Niall is ninety percent sure he's fallen asleep again. He looks at him, shakes his head in disbelief. He’s constantly jealous of Zayn’s ability to fall back asleep. Niall will never be able to do that now that he’s stood up. Now that he’s left the warm cocoon of blankets.

He pisses, washes his hands, runs some water over his face. Looking in the mirror, he figures he could do with a shave. It’s rare that he gets a chance to, though, and he’s sporting some truly questionable peach fuzz. Never quite at the stage where it turns into anything. He stretches out his hands, skin on his palms pulling uncomfortably. The callouses on his fingers are peeling slightly. His nose is also looking a little redder than normal. He’ll have to ask Liam for more suncream the next place they stop at, he’s almost done with his, not that it’s done him much good, anyway.

Heading out of the motel room, he grabs his mobile. Goes outside to stand at the railing, look out over the parking lot.

His phone tells him that it’s twenty to seven in the morning. He sighs, leaning against the railing. They don’t really have anything to do today. They’re booked in a tiny venue later, will have to show up for soundcheck at some point in the afternoon. That’s hours away, though. Looking at his phone, he figures that he should send a text to his mam and dad. The time’s all wrong, but they’ll only worry if he doesn’t try to check in. He sends the same one to both of them, still too tired to properly personalise them, but he figures that they won’t bother to talk to each other to check.

_“gig later ! sick over here. when we get famous i’ll bring ye. you’d like it, v hot. i got burned. y all alri? call soon x”_

He’s still standing there, trying to think about how he can kill all of the free time, when someone wraps their arms around his waist, nose pressing into his hair. He smiles, moves his weight back into them.

“I thought you were sleeping,” He says, Zayn doesn’t reply, just tightens his arms around Niall’s waist in response. Niall can feel Zayn’s smile against him, and it’s nice. The air is chill, too early for the sun to be at it’s full punishing heat, but Zayn himself is warm. His skin burns so hot that sometimes Niall thinks there must be fire under his skin.

“Kept waking up, too cold without you.”

Niall smiles too, now. Puts his hands over Zayn’s and sways slightly, tipping his head so he can see Zayn’s face, “Aw, I never knew you were such a sap.”

“Piss off,” Zayn says, then, “Come back to bed.”

“Contradicting yourself there, mate.” He laughs.

“S’early,” Zayn mutters. He’s completely pressed against Niall’s back, “Too early for me to be witty, like. It’s why you should come back to bed.”

“I probably won’t fall back asleep,” Niall says, twisting in Zayn’s arms. They’re almost exactly the same height, both of them looking at each other. Zayn smiles. It’s an early morning kind of smile, the one side of his mouth tilting up softly. Niall wants to touch it. Wants to kiss it. He settles for kissing Zayn on the cheek, instead. Zayn’s eyes flutter shut, and when Niall pulls away, Zayn says,

“Yeah you will. Come back to bed.”

“Okay,” Niall says, “Okay.”

Zayn’s smile is brighter than the morning sun. He turns, one hand going down to tangle with Niall’s, and pulls them both back into the hotel room. Niall is asleep again before his head has properly hit the pillow.

**

They’re soundchecking. Sort of.

The venue is the sort of venue they normally get. Small, tiny stage. Louis calls them basement crowds, Harry calls them intimate. Liam calls them, ‘a temporary situation.’ Still, the guy that ran the place told them that you could cram two hundred people in on a good day. Liam told him Compass Rose are always a good day. They’d been laughed at, but Niall knows Liam’s right.

They’re picking up pace, out here. They don’t sell their tickets to pre order, which means that it’s first at the door, first in. Lately, they’ve started having to turn people away. Lately, there have been girls at the front row that know every word to every song. Lately, if you Google, “Compass Rose,” things to do with maps aren’t the only results that come up. They have fans, now. People relentlessly promoting them. Their crappy blog is getting more people following it every day, and their even crappier YouTube videos are finally starting to get views.

Niall can feel it. Right now, they’re standing on the edge of a cliff. Right now, they’re at the make or break point, and Niall doesn’t think they could ever break.

Still, they’re supposed to be soundchecking. Only Liam went out to grab some food for them half an hour ago, and he’s still not back. Louis refuses to check his guitar without Liam’s to pit it against, because,

“I’m only melodic guitar, anyway! I need to base my sound off Liam’s, which I can’t do if he’s not here.”

Guitars are the only things left to do, that, and Harry with all the instruments in place. They sound good, today, well rested, excited. Niall can already feel the anticipation he gets before a show licking at his heels, and, looking at where the rest of the boys are, they can too.

Harry is sitting beside Louis. The two of them are supposedly on their mobiles, but every five seconds one of them looks up and shoves the other. There are probably a precious few minutes before one of them pulls the others hair, or starts slapping. Niall hopes Liam comes back, soon. He’ll managed to stop Louis annoying Harry, he’ll just resort to annoying Liam, instead.

Zayn is sitting at the back of the venue, at one of the rickety metal bar tables. He’s got a sketchbook in front of him, and a snapback pulled down so you can’t see his face. Niall squints at him from where he’s sitting, feet dangling off the edge of the stage. He’s almost definite that it’s his snapback Zayn is wearing, and he smiles, almost without meaning to. There’s definitely always been something nice about seeing Zayn in his clothes.

He zones out for a while after that. No one is paying attention to him, so he lies back on the stage, knees still hanging off the end. He’s drifting in and out of sleep when someone sits down beside him.

“Y’alright, mate?” Liam asks, patting him on the knee.

“Yeah,” Niall says, and pushes himself up so he’s sitting beside Liam, “Where were you? You took ages.”

Liam winces, “Yeah. Sorry about that, I bought you a sandwich,” He passes said sandwich to Niall. It’s chicken salad, and Niall grins, opening it and nudging his shoulder to Liam’s in thanks.

“Ta, bro,” He says around a bite, “Shouldn’t have taken you that long to get a few sandwiches, though?”

“No,” Liam replies, and he’s smiling now. His eyes crinkling up, his hand tapping the stage beside his leg, “No, I was taking pictures. Signing autographs. There are people out there that have been waiting since, like, six AM this morning, mate. We just didn’t see them because we came in the back. It’s happening, bro. Niall, we have fans.”

Niall pauses in his destruction of the sandwich, turns to look at Liam, wide eyed. This is big. They all know, vaguely, that they’re starting to pick up pace, people are starting to actually pay attention. It’s rare that they see the attention they’re gathering so physically. Rare that people actually stop and ask them for photos for signatures.

“Have to told the rest of them that we’re becoming the next Fall Out Boy, yet?” He asks, and Liam shakes his head,

“Didn’t want to. Wanted to see their faces.”

Niall laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. This is big. This is bigger than all of them. Bigger than they ever imagined that they’d be. Fans, fuck. People that want to see them. People that will spend hours out in the horrible heat of the Texas summer, just so Liam Payne. Liam, Niall’s best friend. Liam Payne will sign their shirts.

“Shit, man,” He says, then yells, “Louis! Harry! Zayn! Payno’s got big news, fuckheads!” None of them look up, and Niall sighs, leaning against Liam, “He also has sandwiches!”

That gets them moving. Liam snorts, shaking his head at Niall and rolling his eyes, “Do you ever feel like we’re the parents?” He asks, and Niall grins,

“You’re definitely the mum, Payne.”

“Whatever you say, Niall.”

The other three are beside them now. Harry and Louis done with their arguing, Zayn flopping down beside Niall, stealing the sandwich out of his hand. Niall frowns at him, but lets him do it.

“Jesus,” Louis whispers under his breath, then, louder, “Why don’t you love me enough to give me your sandwich, Liam?”

Liam’s eyebrows pull together, “You can have it if you want, but it’s chicken mayo. I bought you a BLT? I thought those were your favourite?” Louis smiles, eyes soft, and kisses Liam on the cheek,

“They are, Liam, I’m just taking the piss out of Niall and Zayn.”

Zayn, who is still eating Niall’s sandwich, looks unimpressed, “You can have my sandwich, Niall.”

Niall sticks his tongue out, “I was going to steal some of it anyway, you’re not eating half my sandwich for free.”

Zayn waggles his eyebrows, “Was planning to pay for it later tonight, but, like, I charge by the hour. Dunno if you could afford me, Niall. I’ve been told I’m unreal.”

Niall cracks up, looks at the pleased way Zayn is smiling at him. Niall’s sandwich still shoved in his mouth. Gets a little caught up in it, really. Zayn looking back at him, both of them happy, both of them beside each other. Hours before they go on stage.

“Anyway,” Harry says, pointedly, “What was the news that you seemed so excited about, Niall?”

“Oh yeah,” He says, “You guys are going to freak out!”

 

**

Zayn has a compass rose tattooed.

Niall isn’t sure if the other guys know about it. It’s on the back of his right thigh, high up, just under his ass, really. Niall only knows that it’s there because when they’re in motel rooms Zayn sleeps in only his boxers. It’s intricate, though. Beautiful. Thick lines with careful patterns, bold against his skin. Niall doesn’t know if he designed it himself. Doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask. It’s there, though, on Zayn’s skin. Has been for a while.

Niall knows how invested Zayn is in this band. Sees it in the way he pours over their lyrics. The way he frowns when he’s trying to come up with a bassline. The way he makes sure he’s never a single note out of place. His bass is called Sandra, and Zayn loves her. Touches her with a reverence that Niall has never seen him direct at another person, except, maybe, his sisters.

Zayn loves this band almost more that Niall does. Comes off stage each night with something alive in his eyes, falls into Niall’s arms and presses sweaty kisses to his neck. There’s something about getting to work with Zayn that takes Niall’s breath away. Something about hitting the drum just as Zayn plays a note of his bass. The way he can feel it all reverberating through his heart.

Niall’s been in love with Zayn for longer than he can remember, but the first time that they got on stage together, Niall knew that this wasn’t the kind of love he would just get over. It had been some horrid bar, a dive place. They’d only got the gig there because it was about ten minutes from where Louis’ lived, back in Doncaster, and he’d known a guy that worked there. The audience were far past the good stage of drunk, listless and tired and barely paying attention.

Zayn, though, Zayn had thrown back his head and played his bass. Moved like he was water on the stage. Niall had done most of his drumming that show on muscle memory alone. Breath caught in his throat. Zayn in front of him. He’d fallen harder than he thought he could. Cliché in all the best and worst ways.

Zayn loves their band. He loves all of it, loves the van, loves the time spent with all of them. Sure, sometimes he gets this pinched look, curls up small on the back seat and won’t speak to anyone, skypes his mum in an internet café and comes back with red rimmed eyes. Niall had asked him once, though, if he’d change anything, and Zayn had laughed and said,

“Yeah, mate, I’d change the number of fans.”

It looks like they’ve done that now. People were turned away at the door, tonight. People in the front row of the crowd are screaming their lyrics with them, tonight, standing with signs, their bodies moving as one. Zayn keeps playing towards Niall, tonight, eyes wide and mouth wider. Grin on his face so open Niall thinks his whole body might open with it.

Niall can barely hold his drumsticks, can barely breathe through the fog that’s settled around all of them. The high of success has never felt more like an actual high. They’re writhing on it. The stage they’re standing on coming alive beneath them. When Harry yells into the microphone that this is their last song of the night, that Niall’s got something special to show all of them, Zayn tips a bottle of water over his head, and Niall blinks.

He doesn’t know where the show went, where all the time went. It’s his solo moment now, though, he knows that. His drum solo that Harry practically forced on him. He loves it, though. Loves the way that with drum solos all people can do is watch the way his hands move and feel the pounding of it in their hearts. He likes that about the drums. They’re steady. You have to feel them. They force you to feel them. You can’t ignore the drums, can’t leave them out of a song. They’re the foundation, the rock. The basis for it all.

Niall likes the idea of being something you could build a base on. Drums are like the home of music, he thinks. Like the beating heart.

**

Coming off stage that night doesn’t even feel real. They’re all pressing together, bouncing off each other. Niall jumps on Harry’s back and Liam tangles his hands in Zayn’s hair. All of them crash together, arms and legs and laughter - electric on the thrill of it all. On the feeling of being loved. Being supported.

“We going to see if people are waiting for us to sign stuff?” Louis asks, his eyes are bluer than Niall can ever remember seeing him. Niall is pretty sure Louis already knows the answer to his own question.

“Of course we are, Louis,” Harry says, pulling Louis closer to him. Louis shoves at Harry, and he staggers. The weight of Niall still settled on his back throwing his balance off even more than usual.

“Careful,” Zayn interjects, hand reaching out to steady Niall, not Harry, “Don’t want our lead singer and drummer getting damaged, like.”

Louis laughs, hip checking Zayn away from Niall, “I don’t know, Zayners. I think we could get a strange little fanbase with guitars and a bass. I mean, with your good looks, I reckon we could get anywhere.”

“I think that’s just all five of us, lads,” Liam smiles, looking at all of them, “Ridiculously attractive, we are. The Americans are just weak for our British charm.”

“Ay,” Niall scowls, hopping down from Harry to frown at Liam, “Don’t be at that, now. British has nothing to do with my charm.”

Zayn wraps his arm around Niall’s waist, pressing his nose into his hair, smiling. He can still feel the adrenaline running through Zayn in his touch, the way they’re all almost drunk off the stage, “Yeah, Liam, Niall’s charm is all Irish.”

“Sorry, Nialler,” Liam says, he ruffles Niall’s hair, like an older brother. Louis knocks against Liam, and he wraps his arms around him, quick, smiling. Louis scowls, but he relaxes into Liam’s touch almost instantly.

“Are we going out, yet?” He snaps, and Harry laughs,

“Think the kid’s getting impatient, here.” He says. Louis’ eyes narrow dangerously,

“Watch it,” He says, “I’m your superior in every way, including age. I’ll be on the phone to Anne if you don’t start respecting your elders, Harold. We’re paving the way for your generation.”

Harry’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t argue. Just shakes his head, hair flying out around him and says, “Sure, sure, old man.” Louis scowls, and Harry sticks his tongue out, moves around the four of them, heading in the direction of the heavy doors that will take them out of the venue and into the throng of people Niall hopes are waiting for them.

Grinning at them all, eyebrows raised, Harry shoulders the door open.

**

They have enough money for the motel again, that night. The same girl is at the reception desk. Red lipstick and blonde hair, she still smiles only at Harry, looks up at him from under her perfect eyelashes. Harry smiles back at her, kindly, but there’s no chemistry there. He doesn’t lean over the desk to talk to her like he would if he were actually interested.

The girl doesn’t seem to get the hint.

Niall feels as though his whole body is fizzing out in different directions. There had been fans waiting for them outside, girls and boys alike, ripped skinny jeans and baggy shirts, Niall had looked at all of them and smiled, signed the CD’s that they’d shoved in his face, trying not to be too surprised they even owned their CD. One girl, with braces and dyed blue hair had smiled at him and said,

“You’re my favourite.”

Niall had laughed, shook his head, “I’m the drummer, babe! Not many people’s favourite.”

She hadn’t looked perturbed, just smiled wider, shrugged, said, “I’m the drummer, too.” And Niall had signed her CD, took a slightly blurry selfie on her phone. Felt his heart open up and his lungs close down. It had felt like the start of everything. Like he’d taken a step off a boat, was standing in the middle of the ocean, salt around him. Each wave crashing another bout of, ‘you’re my favourite.’

So Niall is jittery. Wound up. His bones feel like they’re too big for his skin, hands too heavy for the rest of him. Zayn can tell, he knows he can tell, because the second that they get inside their room, he pushes Niall onto the bed and climbs on top of him. Sits on his stomach and looks down at him, seriously.

“If you kick me in the middle of the night, mate, you can sleep in the fucking van.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Niall grins, setting his hands beneath Zayn’s ribs. He can feels Zayn’s chest move under him.

“Try me,” Zayn says, but he’s grinning, bending down.

This, right here, becomes the moment in which Niall thinks Zayn is going to kiss him.

It is a weighted moment. Weighted in the sense that he is literally being held down by Zayn. Zayn is everywhere around him, nowhere he can move to escape. For a second, he freezes, each bone in his body tensing like a string on a guitar pulled too tight. Rigid, he lies there. Zayn inches away from his face, looks at him.

“Try me,” He says again, and moves off Niall.

Niall breathes out, slowly, lies on top of the blanket for another moment. Lies still, before he pushes himself off the bed, wanders into the bathroom, brushes his teeth. When he comes back in, Zayn is still awake, but he’s lying under the blankets, now. Looking at Niall.

“You feeling calmer?” He asks. Niall stands there, shakes himself out, thinks about it,

“Dunno,” He says, “Mental, like, all the people.” He smiles then, looks at Zayn, “Girl with blue hair told me I was her favourite. Nice to be the favourite of someone that’s clearly already cooler than me.”

Zayn moves his face into the pillow. Niall can tell he’s smiling, but doesn’t call him out on it. When Zayn looks back up at him, he’s still not fully straight faced, anyway, “You’re plenty cool, Nialler. You’re my rockstar idol.”

“Shush,” Niall doesn’t even look at him, is too busy undoing his belt and stripping off his jeans. He clambers into bed beside Zayn and presses a kiss to his shoulder, though, “You’re making me blush.”

“I was told that flattery would get me everywhere.” Zayn replies. Niall makes a noise of agreement, wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulls their hips close together,

“Everywhere,” He says, “Like you would want to be anywhere other than here.”

He means for it to come out as jokey. A laugh between mates. Mates, wrapped up together, mostly naked in bed. Mates that don’t know how to sleep alone anymore. It comes out as painfully sincere, instead, and Zayn says nothing. He does flick out the light, though, the only one left on in the room. Plunging them into darkness, Zayn holds Niall’s arm to him, and, just when Niall is almost asleep, he thinks he hears Zayn whisper,

“Of course I don’t.”

**

The next day, the next town. Currently, the five of them are in transit. It’s Zayn’s turn to drive, and Niall is in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, snapback tipped low over his eyes to block the sun. Harry, Liam and Louis have all opted to share the back bench. Harry is lying over the two of them, feet in Louis’ lap, head in Liam’s. He’s too tall for it, really, the cramped position doing nothing good for his dodgy back.

Niall is pretty zoned out, Zayn’s got FKA Twigs playing at a low volume, and the warmth of the late morning sun is making him sleepy. His eyes are shut and his hands are lax on his stomach, when Liam snorts, speaks quietly,

“Honestly, Zayn, keep your eyes on the bloody road, yeah?”

“Piss off, Li,” Zayn says, but his voice sounds fond.

“Oi, leave Liam alone. He’s just trying to make sure you don’t crash the fucking car because you’re too busy staring at Niall when he’s asleep. Like a fucking creep, might I add.” Louis chips in, protective urges as strong and as obvious as ever.

There’s silence in the van for a few moments, before Harry, too, pitches in, “You do stare pretty obviously, Zayn.”

“I hate you all,” Zayn says, but he doesn’t disagree, he just sounds fond, slightly embarrassed.

No one says anything after that, and Niall thinks about moving. Thinks about opening his eyes. Thinks about asking them all what they mean. FKA Twigs is still playing though, and Niall is comfortable. Sun on his chest. Figuring that it’s not worth it, he lets it go. If it continues to bother him, Niall will ask Zayn later. Ask him when it’s just him and Zayn. It seems like the sort of conversation that Harry, Louis and Liam shouldn’t be around to hear, anyway.

Niall actually does fall asleep after that. Wakes up when the engine cuts off, and Zayn puts a hand on his shoulder, shakes him softly.

“Wake up Niall,” He says, smiling, “We’ve stopped at the services.”

Niall sighs, unbuckles his seatbelt, knocks his hat off to run a hand through his hair. Twisting his head from side to side, trying to crack his neck, he pulls a face at Zayn, drags his body out of the car. American service stations are nothing like the ones back home or in the UK. The ones with rows of clean toilets and WH Smiths, mopped floors and grumpy teenagers working behind the desks. Here, they’re normally small, family owned stores. All of them tucked away in their small corners of nowhere, one toilet to their name. Harry says it’s a blessing if the toilet flushes.

This one doesn’t look that bad, though, it’s a relatively big shop. Store. Louis is standing outside it, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He has what looks like the crease from a t-shirt on his face, probably fell asleep on Liam’s shoulder. When he sees Niall, he smiles, though,

“Alright, Niall, finally back with the living, ey?”

Niall nods, puts his snapback back on. He’s pretty sure he’s got hat hair, or bed head, or some horrible combination of the two. He figures that the general population don’t need to see it. Even if that’s just a few sad people in a small service station, somewhere in Southern Texas.

“It appears so, don’t look like you were faring much better though, Tommo.”

Louis wrinkles his nose in faux annoyance, sticks out his tongue at Niall, where he’s standing beside Zayn, “You should be impressed that I managed to sleep, Horan! You snore like a motherfucker.”

“I fucking don’t!” He says, scowling. Zayn laughs, loops an arm around each of their shoulders.

“You both snore, so it doesn’t even matter. Anyway, c’mon, lads, I want a chocolate bar. Harry and Liam are probably going to come out with some shit lettuce or summat, if we don’t go in after them.”

“Lettuce can be alright,” Niall says, and Louis and Zayn both turn to look at him incredulously.

“Niall has been changed for a strange, lettuce liking clone.” Louis observes, looking at him. Niall sticks out his tongue.

“Clearly you just haven’t tried the miracle that is Trisha Malik’s salad.” He replies. Zayn’s whole face crinkles up happily.

“My mum does make good food, Louis.”

“Sorry, Zayn, but lettuce only counts as good food if it’s with bacon, mayonnaise and tomato in a Marks and Spencers BLT sandwich.” He stops, suddenly, just in the door of the shop, “Fuck. I miss Marks and Spencers. Mum used to work there for a while, got all their sandwiches proper cheap if they were gonna throw them out. I’d kill for a Percy Pig, right now. One of them veggie ones. They always tasted nicer, like. Dunno why.”

Zayn looks at him, “We’ll buy you a Yorkie.”

“S’not the same, Zayn,” Louis pouts, and Zayn rolls his eyes,

“No, it’s not the same, but it’s the best America has to offer.” He drags them round a corner. The three of them still moving as one sloppy, many limbed being. They see Liam, then, standing in the middle of the sweet isle, brows furrowed as he looks at all the chocolate. He’s holding a yorkie bar in his hand, and looks up when he hears them all coming.

“Niall!” He says, smiling, “You’re awake!”

Louis frowns at him, breaking from their trio to go and poke Liam in the chest. Liam doesn’t even flinch, “I was asleep, too. Don’t you care that I’m awake, Liam?”

“No,” Liam replies, “I like you better when you’re sleeping. You’re quieter. Less likely to poke me.”

Louis pokes him again. Then, he catches sight of the Yorkie in Liam’s hand and his whole face lights up, “Is that for me?”

“No, you poked me.”

Louis kisses him on the nose, and Liam’s shoulders visibly soften, “It might be for you,” He allows, and Louis’ whole face lights up.

“You two are disgusting,” Zayn says. His arm is still hooked over Niall’s shoulders, and he’s leaning into him. His weight is solid against Niall, and Niall smiles, despite himself.  

“Yeah,” Niall says, “Proper grim, like, can’t believe we have to share such close space with people that are all over each other, like you two.” He tips back into Zayn as he says this, and Zayn tightens his arm.

“You know,” Louis says, slowly, “It’s rare that I can’t tell if you’re taking the piss or not, Zayn. I’m impressed. You have truly taken the deadpan to a new level.”

“And brought Niall with you,” Liam finishes.

Niall laughs, reaches up to tug at Zayn’s hand where it’s resting on his chest, right over his pec. “I was always on this level, lads,” He tells them, “You just hadn’t joined me here, yet.”

Louis and Liam don’t look that impressed, but Zayn grins. Twists his hand so that he’s properly holding Niall’s. The two of them leaning together like two parenthesis.

It’s then that Harry comes around the corner, basket over his one arm, “There you all are!”

The basket is filled with sensible things, like; fruit, bread, asprin, and a bottle of water for each of them. It’s very Harry, really. Harry himself looks at the four of them, standing in two couples, and smiles, “I need to take a picture of this, for the blog. You’re all adorable. Picture perfect, like.” He puts the basket down on the floor, taking his backpack off and riffling through it. Assumably for the small, point and shoot digital camera he normally brings with him.  

“Do people even look at that blog, Harry?” Louis says, rolling his eyes. Harry looks up at him from where he’s still buried in the bag, offended.

“I’ll have you know that my blog has almost thirty five thousand followers.”

“Really?” Liam asks. His eyes have gone wide, and Harry sticks his tongue out.

“Compass Rose are very popular, Liam. People want to know what we’re doing. People want to know if it’s true that we’re all in a polyamorous relationship with each other. I’m just taking some photos of you all as couples to give the people what they want. Up the album sales. You know.”

Zayn snorts, “I wouldn’t be in a relationship with you, Harry. Your feet stink.”

“So do Niall’s!” Harry scowls, pointing an accusing finger. Zayn just smiles, tucking his face close to Niall’s, so that their cheeks are pressed together,

“Yeah,” He agrees, “But Niall is way cuter than you, like.”

Niall scrunches up his nose and laughs, “Don’t worry about it, Hazza. It’s Irish charm. You had no hope against me, mate.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just pulls a face. Niall pulls one right back, and then cracks up. Harry’s face, too, crumples into a smile, and he shakes his head, “Idiot,” He tells Niall, fondly.

“Wanker,” Niall replies, giving him the finger.

“Oi! Put that down, Niall Horan. We’re in a family store, and I don’t want mums to see pictures of the band and think we’re inappropriate for their children.”

Liam frowns, “You humped your mic stand last night. Proper hard. It could probably be filmed and marketed as some kind of weird, public, amatur porn. Like, I was concerned for it, Harry. Genuinely thought you might break the metal, or summat. You are definitely the main thing stopping us from being a family band.”

“C’mon, now, Liam,” Louis laughs, “Zayn’s so attractive he kind of makes everything look like porn.”

Zayn flushes slightly, head ducking down in the shy kind of way that he only ever gets when one of the boys compliments him. It’s strange, really, because Zayn is so assured of his good looks in any other context, but when it comes from one of them, one of the band, his hands tighten on Niall and he won’t look at any of them.

“It’s true,” Niall whispers to him, “You are ridiculously attractive.”

“I know,” Zayn says, small smile stretching wider, “It’s why you love me.”

Niall clamps down a little harder on his grip on Zayn, “It’s definitely one of the reasons. Only one, though.”

Zayn’s answering smile is beautiful, his head tipping down so that he and Niall are forehead to forehead, “I love you too.” He says, soft. It feels different to the other times he’s said it, somehow. Bigger.

Right there, in a small shop in the middle of Texas, Niall realises what he’s known all along. He smiles, and Zayn smiles too. Eyes wide, mouths wider.

Beside them, there is the familiar noise of Harry taking pictures. Neither of them look away from the other.

**

Niall kisses Zayn backstage after their next show.

The two of them are outside, the air around them crisp. It’s been slightly colder these past few days, the oppressive heat from before slowly moving away. Zayn is smoking, cigarettes that definitely aren’t his own, because they’re the cheap kind. Niall thinks that they’re probably Liam’s.

Niall plucks the cigarette from his hand, taking a drag and exhaling out his nose, wrinkling it as he does so. He’s still not a fan of smoking, not cigarettes, anyway. The taste is a bit too bitter for him. Out here, though, it felt appropriate. The beat of his drums still thundering in his heart. Zayn’s bass still flowing through his veins.

“Still insane, yanno?” He says, randomly. He’s not looking at Zayn. His back is against the rough brick of the venues back wall, head leaning against it, looking up at the sky. They’re in a town, at the minute. Light pollution worse than he’s grown accustomed too these past weeks. The moon is shining, though. Almost full.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies, taking the cigarette back off him. It’s almost done, and he takes another deep drag, flicking the excess ash off the end, then dropping it too the floor, stubbing it out with his old Dr Martens. The ones Niall got him, last year, for his birthday. “You ready to go find the lads?” He asks.

Niall shakes his head, turns sideways. Zayn follows his movements, the two of them facing each other, leaning fully against the wall.

“I meant it, you know,” Niall tells him, and Zayn smiles.

“Meant what?”

“Your looks being only one of the things I love about you.”

Zayn tips slightly closer to him, moves his hand into Niall’s hair, “Oh yeah?” He’s smiling. He knows where this is going. They both do. It’s been too long. Too many days, weeks, months.

Years.

Too long for the two of them to keep dancing to this beat. They’re older now, different. Fully grown into their bodies. They’re not the children that they were when they first met.

Zayn has a compass rose tattooed. Zayn watches Niall when he’s supposed to be watching the road. He learned the bass for Niall. Learned how to leave his family behind for Niall. Zayn has done impossible things for Niall, calmed him down, held him, made him laugh.

Niall tells him this. Leans closer and closer with each word. Stutters over them, partly because of the proximity, partly because words have never been his forté. Zayn is shining, though, glowing in the light from the moon and the dust all around them. Niall thinks about light pollution. Thinks about how maybe the stars aren’t shining so bright tonight, because Zayn has claimed all their light for his own.

Niall kisses Zayn backstage after the show, and Zayn kisses back. Words no longer needing to be spoken between them, because what are words to a drummer and a bassist? They speak in rhythms. In beat. In perfect tempo with each other, twisting together in ways that only the two of them could perfect.

“I love you,” Niall says.

“I know,” Zayn says. Kisses his nose. His eyelids. His cheeks.

“I love you too.”

 

 

______

 

_SUPER BONUS EPILOGUE_

A week later, and they’re out of Texas.

They’re still pretty deep south. There’s still a lot of desert, a lot of corn, a lot of dust, a lot of stars. Every time Niall drives, Zayn still picks the music. They still share motel rooms. They still joke with the other boys.

Nothing has changed. Not really. Nothing was ever really going to change.

Except now, when Niall looks at Zayn on stage, Zayn is looking back. Eyes wide, lightning running through him, Zayn is always looking back. Grin on his face, Niall will blow a kiss at him, and Zayn will move his head, eyes lit up like he’s catching it without hands.

A week later, Harry moves out of the way of the mic on stage when he’s supposed to be talking to the crowd.

Niall is confused, because he wasn’t told about this. He’s confused, because Zayn is putting Sandra down, passing her off to Liam, and taking Liam’s ratty old acoustic that they only use for one song. He’s confused, because Zayn is taking to the mic, standing in front of it.

He lifts a hand, awkwardly waves to the crowd and says, “Hi.” They start screaming, jumping up and down and all of them, pressing closer. Niall knows how they feel. Can see it in some of their eyes, the spark there, the love. Niall knows how they feel.

“Uh,” Zayn stutters, looking surprised, “Uh, this is. This is a bit of an unplanned thing. Just, like, last year, I, uh. I wrote a song, about someone. I wrote, yeah, I wrote this, and now, like, now the time is right for me to play it.”

Zayn doesn’t look at Niall. Doesn’t turn to meet Niall’s gaze. Niall is still sitting helplessly behind the drumkit, sticks hanging weakly in his arms. He can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare at the back of Zayn’s head, because Zayn has written him a song.

Zayn has written him a song, and carried it around for a year. Kept it there for a year. Waited, for this moment, for this crowd, this show. Zayn has written him a song, and Niall didn’t know that it was possible to feel like this about another person. Didn’t know that it was possible to feel the whole of America inside him like this. Filling him up, exploding out of him in a supernova. The world is simultaneously bigger than it’s ever been before, and narrowed down to nothing but Zayn’s back as he sings.

As he sings, voice hesitant, but strong, beautiful, stretching up and out. Filling the whole of the venue, the little hall that they’re little band are booked to play. Zayn is standing there, beaten up, borrowed acoustic guitar in his hands, Niall’s jumper on his shoulders, singing about Niall.

Singing about moons and deserts and finding someone you always knew was there.

When Zayn finishes, there’s silence in the hall for a few seconds. He’s quiet, let’s the last note ring through the air. Then he steps back from the mic. Takes the guitar off. Puts it down beside him.

The hall erupts. It explodes. The whole galaxy fizzes into the venue and out, over all of them. The fans are screaming. Louis, Liam and Harry are jumping up and down on stage, running forwards and hugging Zayn, pulling him in different directions and shouting in happiness.

Niall can’t.

He walks, out from behind his drums, out to stand so that he’s staring at Zayn. The whole of his heart feels like it’s fallen out from behind his ribs, rolled down his arm and landed, right on his wrist. On his sleeve.

The fans are quiet once more, the whole venue feels like they’re holding their breaths.

So Niall does the only thing he can think of to do.

He runs into Zayn’s arms, laughs when Zayn catches him effortlessly. His legs wrap around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn’s arms are there, holding him up, supporting him. When Niall kisses Zayn this time, the sparks behind his eyes are from camera phones, from Harry’s SDLR, from the hundreds of people watching them.

**

Two months later, they get called up by a label.

Louis cries. Harry yells, and Liam spends the whole time muttering in shock. Zayn just smiles at Niall and says, “I knew that tattoo wasn’t a stupid idea.”

Niall laughs, shakes his head, puts his hands over his mouth. They’ve made it. They’ve done it.

Hand, tangled in Zayn’s, Niall smiles, looks out the window of the van. He doesn’t know the name of the town. Doesn’t care enough to find out, really. He used to. Used to write every town, every village down. Try to buy something in each one. Used to send postcards from each location to his mam, blast Fall Out Boy’s early albums and drum along with Andy Hurley on the steering wheel. It doesn’t seem quite like that, now. Now he’s just happy to know what state he’s in. Know where his drumsticks are and know where he’s going to be sleeping.

Now he’s just happy to know he’s got Zayn. He’s got his boys.

He’s got his band. His compass rose.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> First of all; none of the people in this fic are in any way affiliated with me, but Zayn Malik's bass, Sandra most definitely _is_ affiliated with me. Yes, she has five strings, yes, I actually did get her off Freecycle, yes, she is even more beautiful than Zayn Malik himself. 
> 
> This whole fic was just a shameless mush of all my favourite tropes in one, from roadtrips in America, to indie rock bands, to sharing a bed and stupid banter. It had it all. Also, did you know that I used to hate lilo as a ship? Now I can't write a fic without lilo being in there somewhere. It's a problem. 
> 
> Anyway, I know nothing about America nor Texas and it's for that reason I have kept it as vague and as undetailed as possible. Sorry, not sorry. Research makes me feel tired emotionally and physically. Next, a _big_ thank you to [Emma](http://cadetcuttlefish.tumblr.com) for checking my spelling/grammar. You're amazing. If there are any mistakes still in this, then the fault is entirely my own, not hers, and you can complain to me about them over on tumblr @[niallhiran](http://niallhiran.tumblr.com)


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